


Of Faeries and Pirates

by R_Black



Category: Pan (2015), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, X-Men/Pan Mix, logurt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he was known as Blackbeard, he was just Logan, wild child of Neverland. Before he hunted faeries to extinction for their Pixim, he was friends with a devilish Dark Faerie named Kurt. More of a mix than crossover between X-Men and Pan. Implied smut in future chapters, but never shown. Very heavy Logurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginnings of a Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crow821](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crow821/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A feral child of Neverland meets a different type of faerie.

Long ago, there lived a boy. This boy was wild and carefree. He was friends with faeries, and had adventures in a magical place called Neverland.  
  
Oh, this is not the boy you’re thinking of. This boy didn’t fight pirates on a daily basis, or lead a band of misfit boys around, or play games with the tribe on Neverland. He didn’t know what pirates were. He hated going around the natives. And he didn’t have many friends. Actually, truth be told, he only had one true friend. And that friend would grow to be more than just a friend…  
  
This boy’s name was Logan. _Just_ Logan.  
  
He didn’t know why it was his name—only that it was. It seemed to fit him, so he kept it. After all, it wasn’t like he’d heard his birth name much. His mother had abandoned him as a baby—or so he assumed.  
  
The truth was, his mother had been attacked by Neverbirds, the cartoonish and Hellish avians that were as dangerous as they were funny-looking. The tribe had been moving at the time, and Logan’s mother had been lagging behind with him, a very young child of two years. The Neverbirds chased her away from the main group, and she had been killed. Logan had barely escaped, but the experience had scarred him. All he remembered were colorful feathers, his mother screaming, and people walking in the forest. Once, right after the tragedy, he’d seen a tribe member and ran, thinking of the nightmare covered in feathers that kills.  
  
So, he spent his early childhood alone, surviving in the deep forests of Neverland. He learned early not to go swimming after dark in the rivers. A croc had been waiting for the easy meal, but he escaped. Food was pretty easy to come by, as long as Logan stayed away from the Neverbirds. Fire was foreign to Logan, so any meat he managed to get was raw. The faeries flew by sometimes; they’d tried to guide him back to the tribe, but the fear of the tribe—misplaced or not—was deep-rooted, and he would not approach.  
  
Then, when he was five, Logan met a _different_ type of faerie.  
  
That morning, as he bathed in the river, Logan saw a shadow in the bushes. He dismissed it, thinking it some sort of deer.  
  
Then a sound hit his ears. It was like a tiny explosion of air. Logan looked to the same bushes and saw a wisp of smoke rise up from behind them. Another soft explosion sounded behind him, on the other side of the river. Logan whirled, watching through narrowed eyes as a similar wisp descended from a branch. He tried to see if anything was on that branch, but it was too shadowed.  
  
Yet another explosion happened, this time directly behind him. Logan turned his head and yelped. All he saw were giant glowing eyes and long fangs before he went under the water to hide. Most sharp-toothed creatures on Neverland did not swim. Crocodiles were the exception, but they didn’t have glowing, yellow eyes.  
  
A blue, spaded tail snaked its way under the water, grabbing Logan’s leg. He thrashed against it and swam a little further away from the shore.  
  
He heard a muffled voice call out, “How long are you gonna be down there?”  
  
Logan froze. Sharp-teeth didn’t _talk!_ He floated up and let his head pop up out of the water. When he looked at the predator, he had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.  
  
The creature at the edge of the shallows looked suspiciously like a little boy. Only, he was covered in fuzzy blue fur. A curly mop of darker blue hair rested on his head. His eyes were a solid yellow, almost golden, which glowed warmly and playfully. He grinned, revealing baby sabers instead of normal people teeth. He wore only little brown pants.  
  
“Hello,” the blue boy said.  
  
Logan eyed him suspiciously, not getting out of the water.  
  
“My mama says you get pruney from being in the water too long,” the boy warned in a playful tone. “Wanna come out?”  
  
Logan shook his head and paddled further downstream. The boy cocked his head and followed along the shoreline. “Where are you going?” he called.  
  
It wasn’t that Logan didn’t want to answer—okay, that was a reason, but the main one was more of the fact that…  
  
“Can you talk?”  
  
Logan doggy-paddled faster, determined to leave the annoying fuzzball behind. He heard the boy shout, “Oh, I didn’t think about that! Sorry! Wait, come back!”  
  
Logan paused in his swimming to look at the crestfallen child. He swam a little closer to shore, but did not get out of the water. The boy’s devil tail still wagged enthusiastically.  
  
“Can you come out?” he tried. “Wanna play?”  
  
_‘Play’_ was not a word Logan knew. He knew a few words, only half-understanding what the blue boy was saying. _‘Play’_ was not in his limited vocabulary list. He mouthed the word, giving the child a confused look.  
  
“Pu-lay-ee,” the child sounded out for Logan. “You know, it’s what you do to have fun! Run around, hit things with sticks, laugh— _play_!”  
  
Logan was immensely confused now. He finally hauled himself out of the water and shook himself like a dog. The boy recoiled from the spray.  
  
“Don’t get me wet,” he complained. “My fur is so hard to dry!”  
  
Logan took his foot and splashed the blue boy. He squealed and retreated a bit further back, his tail sticking straight out.  
  
The boy shook himself just like Logan had. He glared at Logan, then sighed. “Can’t be helped, then.” Then, he removed his little shorts, mumbling, “Mama says to not get my clothes wet.” Finally, as naked as Logan, he crouched on all fours, his tail swishing back and forth dangerously. “You’re gonna get it now!”  
  
He sprinted forward and pounced on Logan, effectively rolling them both back into the shallows. They both screeched playfully and splashed each other.  
  
The great thing about being a child: you can meet someone new and different, and two seconds later it’s like you’ve been friends all your life.  
  
Suddenly, Logan understood the meaning of _‘play’_ and _‘fun’_. He grinned and growled alongside his new friend as they writhed in the shallows. Fish scattered. Birds flew away from the noisy children. Dirt clogged the water.  
  
As quickly as they had started, they ended the fight, just barely out of the water. Logan ended up on top of the blue child, pinning his arms and sitting on his chest. The child’s tail writhed under one of Logan’s feet, trying to tickle its way to freedom.  
  
Eventually, Logan got off of the child, panting as he lay nearby. The blue boy stood up and shook out his fur. As he dried, his fur stuck up and made him look like a big puffball. Logan, for the first time in his life, laughed; how could he ever think that boy was dangerous before?  
  
“Laugh it up,” the boy growled. “It’s hard to look threatening in baby fur!” He crouched and bared his baby fangs. “Grr!”  
  
Logan kept laughing at the pitiful attempt. The boy _harrumphed_ and sat cross-legged on the ground. “I can’t wait ‘til my baby fur goes away…then I won’t be fluffy.”  
  
“Fff…” Logan tried to sound out the word. His voice was scratchy and high-pitched. “Fuh-ff-ee?”  
  
“Fluffy. Fuh-luff-ee,” the boy corrected. “And don’t call me that. My name’s Kurt, by the way.” He held out his hand, which only had three large fingers on it. Logan just stared at it, not knowing what to do and also not understanding how a boy could have less fingers than him.  
  
“You shake it,” Kurt prompted. “And you tell me your name.”  
  
Logan gingerly put his hand in Kurt’s and gently pumped it up and down awkwardly. Kurt gave him a fanged grin. “You got it! Now, your name?”  
  
Ever have a word that sits in the back of your mind—one that you know exists, but feels just out of reach? One that you know you can and should say, but somehow your mouth doesn’t get the memo? That’s how Logan felt right then. He could understand speech just fine (as fine as a regular five-year-old could), but speaking was a completely different matter.  
  
He opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.  
  
Kurt looked thoughtful. “Do you have a name?”  
  
Logan nodded.  
  
“Can you make the shape of the first syllable with your mouth?”  
  
Logan made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, trying to put an ‘L’ in front of it.  
  
“Lo…?” Kurt asked, receiving a nod in return. “Okay…Hm…Louie?”  
  
A solid shake of the head.  
  
“Lonnie?”  
  
Nope.  
  
“Lorenzo?”  
  
Logan had no idea what kind of a name that was.  
  
“Logan?”  
  
The feral boy clapped and smiled.  
  
Kurt grinned. “Logan, huh? How do you have a name when you can’t even speak right?”  
  
Logan frowned, upset. He swirled his finger in the dirt.  
  
The little blue boy tilted his head. “I’m sorry. Mama says I should think before I speak.” He looked a little crestfallen, his tail curling around his strange feet. “I don’t have many friends, you know?”  
  
Logan put his hand on the boy’s knee, encouraging him to go on.  
  
Kurt did. “It’s not that I’m weird,” he defended. “It’s just that, besides my brother and sisters, there aren’t any other kids my age. We’re not allowed to go to the tribe, since the members aren’t that friendly toward dark faeries…”  
  
_Faeries._  
  
Logan’s eyes widened. This boy was a faerie? His experience with faeries had been the tiny creatures of light with butterfly wings that tried to pull him toward the tribe. None of them had looked like _this_.  
  
He poked Kurt’s devilish tail, which seemed to be the only extra appendage on the boy that replaced the insect wings. The tail flinched away. Kurt seemed to understand the point behind the poke. “Um…you don’t know the different types of faeries, do you?” When Logan shook his head, Kurt smiled. “Well, I’m guessing you’ve met the Lights—the light faeries. They’re annoying, aren’t they?”  
  
Logan gave him a smile.  
  
“Well, I’m a Darkling, or a dark faerie. We’re bigger and better!” He puffed out his chest. “My dad says so!” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Do you wanna meet my family?”  
  
Logan backed away a bit. Kurt’s jaw dropped. “Oh, okay. It’s okay if you don’t want to…I just assumed you’d like to come see my home. Unless…you have to go back to your home?”  
  
Logan looked around. He didn’t have a _home_ per say. He just slept where he ended up for the day—as long as it was a protected area, of course. He shrugged.  
  
Kurt’s ears suddenly perked up. He cocked his head and frowned sadly. “My mama’s calling me. Sure you don’t wanna come along?”  
  
Logan nodded.  
  
Kurt sighed. “Okay. I get it. Um…maybe…do you wanna play again tomorrow?”  
  
Logan nodded again, this time with a smile.  
  
“Yay!” Kurt wagged his tail and grinned. “Maybe I can bring some books to help you speak?”  
  
“…?”  
  
“You’ve got a voice,” Kurt said. “I think you just need a teacher! I’ll help you!”  
  
Logan gave him a skeptical look.  
  
“It’s fun to talk,” the Darkling continued. “You could tell me your favorite color, what you like to eat, what you like to do—it’ll be so much fun! We’ll be the best of friends!”  
  
The feral child gave the hyper faerie a nervous smile. Even though he could play fight and have a little fun with Kurt, Logan felt like he would never be as bouncy or excited. But still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend…just as long as that friend didn’t try to drag him back to the tribe.  
  
Kurt’s ears twitched again. “Mama’s getting annoyed. I’ll see you later, Logan!”  
  
One instant, Kurt was there. In his place the next instant was a puff of purple cloud. The weird explosion of air noise—something that sounded like _**BAMF**_ —marked the disappearance of the faerie. Logan wrinkled his nose at the awful smell and waved his hand.  
  
Logan walked back upstream to fetch his ragged pants, pausing to smirk at the little brown shorts left behind in the grass.  
  
A very irritated Darkling female was definitely going to be surprised at her son’s pants-less appearance, and that boy would get a scolding for sure. But he wouldn’t mind; he’d just made a new friend—a friend that would become so much more in the far future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go! Welcome to the strange world of Neverland, home of Logan--known in the future as the mighty Blackbeard--and Kurt--a little Darkling Faerie! I'm keeping things as close to the Pan universe as possible as I write this. The writers of the movie never mentioned Blackbeard's past before Peter's mom, so I decided to make use of that. Yes, Peter's mom will be in this story, and yes, we will get to see what set his Pixim plan into motion. This could be classified as a Pan AU of the X-Men, but near the end it actually IS Pan, so... *shrugs*  
> This entire story was inspired by a beautiful picture by crow821 titled Fairytale Gone Wrong, and it basically written for her. Here's the link, in case you'd like to see it:  
> http://crow821.deviantart.com/art/Fairytale-Gone-Wrong-567236793


	2. The Prince and the Wolverine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reveals a bit of his family information, and Logan receives a name from the Tribe.

Logan had been right. He would _never_ be as talkative as his new friend Kurt.

It was now a whole year since they’d met. If Logan tried to think back to a time when he didn’t know Kurt, he failed. Every happy memory he had included Kurt. From baiting the crocodiles to pulling pranks on the Lights, from star gazing to napping in the sunlit fields beyond the tribe territories, Logan enjoyed Kurt’s company nearly every day.

And, even though Logan had been taught how to speak (albeit quite brutishly) near the beginning of their friendship, it was Kurt who talked the most between them. Logan could literally go a whole day without a single word, whereas Kurt probably couldn’t survive without telling a grand story about his dreams or family at least thrice a day.

As Logan learned, Kurt was in a family of six. He had a mother and a father, as well as two little sisters and a very small little brother. Kurt was the eldest of the Darkling children, but the elder girl, Rogue, was close behind him in age. The younger girl was Jillian, who had tiny wings and a stubby tail, and the very last child was Nils, a little Darkling just barely able to crawl.

More than once, Kurt had offered to bring Logan to his home. And every time, Logan refused.

“I have no idea where it is,” Logan growled as they sat on the cliffs above the Neverbird nests. “I don’t like not knowing where I’m goin’.”

“I told you, the Darkling Territories are on the underside of Neverland. Lookit.” Kurt produced a map from his ‘teaching bag’—the bag he filled with a bunch of reading material and fancy pictures taken from his home. The Darkling pointed at the map of the floating island known as Neverland. “We’re here,” he said, tapping the edge of one side of the island. “My home is here.” He shifted his finger to the shadowed underbelly of Neverland. In the exact middle of the upside-down mountains there was a tiny drawing of a flipped castle. It was marked with the words Darkling Capitol.

Logan picked his nose, uninterested. “No thanks.”

Kurt’s tail slapped the feral boy’s leg. The Darkling glared at him. “That’s gross.”  
  
Logan smirked. “So?”

“So stop.”

Logan burped.

“Ew,” the Darkling complained.

The feral boy farted, then waved a hand towards his friend.

“Stoooop,” Kurt whined. “Ew! Oh, ew! It smells!”

Kurt didn’t mind getting down and dirty, Logan knew, but he absolutely loathed Logan’s usual manners. Time and again he’d tried to correct the feral boy, telling him to say ‘excuse me’ or ‘pardon’, trying to coerce him not to indulge in disgusting habits like picking his nose or farting. Watching Kurt writhe under Logan’s bad habits was like watching someone with ants in their pants—it was extremely funny to view.

Kurt teleported into a tree and harrumphed. “You’re so gross.”

“And yer being a prissy faerie,” Logan shot back playfully. “Are you sure you aren’t a girl? Maybe your sisters are less Light-like than you!” Calling a Darkling Light-like was the equivalent of telling a boy they throw like a girl. A small insult to an adult, but it meant the world to children.

“I’m not Light-like!” Kurt’s tail lashed.

“Says the faerie pouting in a tree because his friend farted like any boy does.”

Kurt tried to give an argument back, but he failed after opening and closing his mouth several times. Then, he mumbled, “How would you know what boys do? You don’t play with anyone but me.”

“Don’t have to,” Logan said, wandering over to the tree. “I’ve seen enough of the tribe boys playing to know what they do. I think I’ve seen them have contests about being gross.” Logan grinned up at his friend.

“There is no reason to be farting all over the place,” Kurt said, lifting his chin up in defiance.

Logan chuckled. “Why are you so sensitive to that?” He started scrambling up the trunk of the tree. “It’s weird!”

Kurt helped the feral boy up to his branch. “My mama says it is ‘unbecoming’ of the next in line to do such things.”

Logan paused. “Un…be…coming?” he sounded out.

“Um…” Kurt put a finger to his chin. “I think it means a prince shouldn’t act gross.”

“And you always do what yer mama says,” Logan teased. “Yer a mama’s boy.” He hesitated. “What’s a prince?”

Kurt turned his head. “I didn’t say? A prince is the son of a king.”

“What’s a king?”

“A leader. People follow leaders because they are fierce and just. Because they are strong!” Kurt puffed out his chest. “My daddy is the strongest Darkling! King Azazel, the blood red faerie!”

At the time, Logan had no idea how heavy this admittance was. It was true; Kurt was the eldest prince of the Darklings’ rulers, son and heir of King Azazel. He would rule over the dark faeries for many centuries after his father passed, and would work together with the Light King/Queen of his era to ensure the safety and continuation of Neverland. His blood was royal blood, and as a royal, he was expected to act a certain way when around his mother, Queen Raven, and father.

But, for now, Logan couldn’t care less. The weight of Kurt’s statement was like telling a street dog you were a wealthy CEO of the building it was peeing on—it didn’t matter to Logan at all.

Logan poked Kurt hard in the chest. Kurt exhaled sharply and coughed. Logan grinned as Kurt tried to gain his breath back.

Kurt’s tail began lashing back and forth. Logan’s eyes widened. He knew what that meant.

Kurt suddenly pounced, knocking them both out of the tree. Logan smelled stinky sulfur as Kurt teleported them safely into the bushes. This power, Kurt had said, was why male Darklings did not have wings. Teleportation was as natural to dark faerie males as flying was to females and Lights.

Kurt shot out of the brush, running on all fours with his tail sticking straight out behind him. Logan rushed after him, also on all fours.

They chased each other around the forest, laughing and growling, stopping frequently to wrestle. More often than not, Logan would have Kurt pinned, and Kurt would ‘port away before he could howl victoriously.

As Kurt skillfully sped through the underbrush, Logan just crashed through like a badger.

* * *

 

As the children thundered through the forest, a few tribe members halted in their hunting training. One of them glared in the direction of the moving bushes nearly a mile away.

A small hunter, no older than Logan, tugged on the lead’s pants. “We hunt that?” he asked innocently.

“It runs with great speed,” noted one of the senior hunters. “But it is small enough to be covered by the grasses.”

“Listen,” the leader hissed. The group obeyed.

Growls and laughs erupted from the moving bushes. Exploding air noises ripped through the air, and the leader grimaced. “Darklings are nearby,” he whispered.

The senior hunters stiffened. The younger ones looked on, confused. “What are Darklings?” asked the youngest.

“Dark faeries,” the leader answered. “Bigger and stronger than the little light faeries. And much more dangerous. Let it pass and it won’t bother us.”

“But there is something with the Darkling,” someone said next to him. “And they sound very young.”

“All the more reason to stay away. Never intend to hurt a Darkling child. The parents will react as we might, but much more violently.”

At that moment, Kurt appeared a few feet above the ground in front of the group leader, giggling with Logan on his back. They fell and the feral boy scrambled to pin his friend. This time, Kurt gave in with a sigh and overdramatically went limp.

“I give!” He giggled. “You have defeated me, great hunter!”

Logan laughed.

Just then, he saw the tribesmen and froze. Kurt, sensing Logan’s sudden stiffness, turned his head and gasped.

The boy hunter smiled at the feral child before him. “Hello!” he greeted, oblivious to Logan’s fear. “I’m Little Panther. Who are you?”

Some of the other trainees stepped forward and introduced themselves, but Logan backed off of Kurt and bumped against a tree. He yelped before realizing it was only a tree he’d backed into. He realized this used to be a Neverbird spot, for there were Neverchick remains here—possibly one that had tried to fly too early and was left to its fate. Logan eyed one of the bone legs. Neverchicks had extremely sharp talons, mostly for easier gripping as they scrambled on multiple surfaces before learning to fly.

The lead hunter bent down and gently helped Kurt up, instantly recognizing the Darkling prince. “You are unhurt?” he asked tentatively.

Kurt nodded. “I’m fine.” He looked at Logan, who was slowly bending to the ground on all fours. His hair was bristling, and his stance was threatening. Kurt knew he wasn’t playing anymore. “My friend!”

At that moment, Logan grabbed the two Neverbird feet, one for each hand, and swiped at the invading tribe children. Little Panther received a mark on his forearm and fell back, alarmed. A few of the children were also marked and screamed, running back to their senior hunters.

Logan snarled, poised with his hands out. His hands each heralded three Neverbird talons, and four of the six had blood on them now.

Kurt ran forward and grabbed Logan, teleporting away. The children whimpered, cradling their scratches as if their limbs would fall off. Only Little Panther did not cry. He just stared back at where Logan had been, wondering why the boy had been so cruel.

As if reading the child’s mind, the leader bent down and stared into his eyes. “That is an important lesson for everyone. When a creature feels threatened, you should never approach or surround it. They will fight back.”

“But he was one of us,” complained one boy. “We only said hi!”

“He clearly did not wish for you to be near, yet you pinned him against a tree. If a crowd surrounded you out of nowhere, would you feel safe?”

The boy looked down. Little Panther’s brow furrowed. “Then why did he not tell us to go away?”

“Because he is not us,” the leader said. “He is wild, a friend of Darklings. He wants no place with us, though I do not know why and probably never will.” He looked Little Panther in the eye. “If you see him again, let him come to you. If he stays away, then that is the sign to not associate with him.”

“He attacked the young ones as if he were a beast,” a senior hunter said.

The leader nodded. “He is like any other predator, then. We’ll report this to the chief and treat the wild boy like a Darkling or crocodile. Give him space and do not approach.”

“What should we refer to him as?”

“He is small and wild, uncontrollable and mean,” protested a hurt boy.

The leader paused, thinking. Then, he gave a small sigh. “Then his name to the tribe shall be the Wolverine.”

* * *

 

“Logan, it’s okay. It’s just me!”

Logan growled, backing into a small hole in a tree. He still held his bone claws at the ready, not seeing his best and only friend in front of him. He smelled his own fear and wanted to curl inside himself. He couldn’t see Kurt. He couldn’t see the new claws in his hands.

The moment he saw the tribesmen, all he saw were the colorful feathers of his mother’s killer. And all he wanted to do, much to his shame later, was run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference, Little Panther is Tiger Lily's father. In the future, as chief, he will be known as Great Big Little Panther, like he is known in the actual original story.
> 
> Also, Logan can handle watching the tribe from afar, but if any get too close, his bad memories of the Neverbirds killing his mother rear up and make him freak out. Just a little FYI, there.


	3. Sick Cub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Logan comes down with a little bug, and Kurt feels the need to help.

In his whole six-and-a-half years of life, Logan had never known sickness. A sniffle here and there had been easily defeated by Logan’s abnormally strong immune system.

His luck ran out one cold night in Neverland. It had been snowing hard, and it had come down extremely fast. He hadn’t been prepared to hunker down, especially when it had been relatively warm that day.

Logan was curled at the mouth of a small cave near the edge of the floating island. A flimsy rag covered him, but not enough to keep out the sudden cold. He held his Neverbird claws close to him, just in case something tried to get him in his state of weakness. Not like anything would; rumors of the Wolverine feral child had spread like wildfire, and he didn’t really care how exaggerated they sounded at this point. It just meant less people and things bothered him.

He sneezed, cold snot dripping from his nose. A groan escaped his lips. Though he was extremely cold, he knew his head was hot. He couldn’t feel his toes.

The snow flew by outside, silent and white and cold. Logan shivered in the entrance, watching through hooded lids as nothing broke the constant white.

Then, a dark blue shape appeared, ruining the pure white of the outside. A little Darkling shuffled through the snow towards the cave, somehow knowing the Wolverine had holed up inside. He had sensed the upper part of Neverland was being sieged by a snowstorm and was worried for his friend.

His worries had been justified. The Darkling found Logan curled up in the cold. In such a weakened state, normally Logan would have lashed out at an intruder—even if it was Kurt. However, Logan was too sick and too delirious to care.

Kurt tried to slap Logan awake. His Mama had told him that you shouldn’t go to sleep in the cold, even in a healing state. You’d never wake up. Logan moaned, opening his clouded eyes.

"Logan,” Kurt said, though his volume hurt Logan’s ears. “Logan, you are sick!”

Logan shook his head. Whether that was denial or just shivering, Kurt couldn’t tell.

Kurt grabbed his friend’s shoulders. “This might make you wanna throw up, but keep it together.”

For a terrifying instant, Logan was freefalling. His stomach hit his brain and then went to his legs. The world smelled of sulfur and fire, and somewhere in the back of Logan’s mind, he knew he was teleporting. He’d teleported with Kurt before, but he had always been strong and kept the sick feeling at bay. Now, though…Now, the only thing he could feel was Kurt’s hands on his shoulders, which were tight against his skin, and on his inside everything was jumbled around painfully.

And then, it ended.

Logan was on the ground again, with Kurt next to him. Logan retched, his stomach still twisting and reeling. He heard Kurt scream, “Eww! I told you to not throw up!”

Logan collapsed limply, sprawled out with his torso covered in sick. His head pounded as Kurt yelled in his ear, though by that point, the feral child could no longer understand his Darkling friend.

Blackness embraced him.

* * *

 

Logan came back to consciousness on a cloud.

Well, it felt like what he thought a cloud would feel like. The ground below him was fluffy and comfortable. A big fur blanket covered him up to his chin. The cloud he was on, as well as the blanket, seemed to be made for something the size of a Neverbird! Logan’s head was propped up on square, smaller clouds as soft as rabbit fur.

It was far too dark to see anything else, though it looked as though colored fur was draping down from the ceiling. Logan called out, his voice scratchy and weak.

It had worked, though. Instantly, Logan heard the sound of Kurt’s teleporting power. The fur was pulled back and light flooded Logan’s vision, so much so that it hurt. His head pounded from the light sensitivity and he hissed in discomfort.

Kurt’s grin seemed just as bright as the light. “You’re awake! Yay!”

Logan grumbled, still sensitive to the sound of Kurt’s high-pitched voice.

Kurt held up a wet rag, placing it on Logan’s head. It was nice and warm, and Logan sighed in delight. Kurt’s smile got wider.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

Logan nodded. “A little bit,” he croaked.

Kurt held up a plate of crackers with his tail. “Hungry?”

“For more than just wood chips,” Logan grumbled.

Kurt rolled his eyes—or, at least Logan thought that’s what he did, since the Darkling had no pupils or irises to roll. “Mama says crackers are the best when you’ve got the flu. They don’t upset your tummy as much.”

Logan took the crackers with a frown on his face, but when one hit his stomach, he realized he still felt ill. Had he had something with more substance, he might have thrown it back up!

“Told you,” Kurt boasted when Logan’s face reflected his ill-feeling.

“Kurt,” came a female voice. “Are you bothering your sick friend?”

Logan thought this voice was harsh, not like any of the tribal females he’d overheard. He didn’t really understand the concept of a mother, but he thought they shouldn’t sound so harsh…

Kurt’s tail twitched. “No,” he lied.

Logan heard stomping. A blue hand—a _five-fingered_ blue hand—reached past the curtain and grabbed Kurt by the scruff of his neck. Kurt screeched in alarm as he was dragged back. The curtain was closed soon after.

“What did I tell you about bothering him while he’s recovering?” snapped the female voice.

“But Mama,” Kurt whined.

“If you whine again I will smack your tail so hard your _father_ will feel it! Do you understand?”

Kurt whimpered, then mumbled, “Yes, Mama. But Logan was awake and he’s hungry. I thought he might like company!”

Logan cleared his throat and rasped, “I don’t mind. If Kurt was being dumb, I’d make him go away.”

The blue hand drew the curtain back. A tall woman, a lighter shade of blue than Kurt, stared down at Logan with piercing yellow eyes. Those eyes actually had pupils, unlike her son’s. Her hair was orange-red, like a blood sunset. Her expression was sour, but extremely regal. The words to describe her came to Logan’s mind: _Alpha female_.

The thing that got Logan’s attention were the folded blue wings, like those of a bat, on her back. Kurt didn’t have those, but she did, which proved Kurt’s claims that Darkling females had wings and not teleportation powers.

She glared at Logan. “You’ll eat the rest of those crackers when you feel up to it,” she ordered. “And Kurt will not be bothering you. You are sick and need rest, young man.”

Had Logan actually grown up with a mother, he would have realized she had a motherly tone to her sharp words and glare. However, he did not like to be told what to do by anyone. He bristled and growled back, “What if I _want_ Kurt to bother me? I won’t sit here in this dark den if I can’t talk with Kurt!”

Kurt appeared behind his mother. He waved his hands and made a slicing motion across his throat. _Bad idea_ , he was trying to communicate.

The woman smacked Logan upside the head. Logan swatted at her, trying to slice her with his claws—only to realize his claws weren’t on his person. One glance around and he found them sitting on the table nearby, next to the abandoned plate of crackers.

Suddenly, she tugged his ear. Logan yelped and screeched, “Hey! No! That hurts!”

“I’ll bet it does,” the woman said calmly. “Though your ears are probably not as sensitive as Kurt’s, it’s nice to know this works on you.” She tugged on it again. “Now, you listen here, little wolverine _cub_. You are going to stay in bed until I deem you better, and I don’t want to hear a whine, snarl, or grumble out of you until you can walk without looking like you’ll throw up. Understand?”

Logan growled, which earned himself another smack. When he finally consented, she let go and shoved him back into the bed. Without so much as a backward glance, she pushed the curtain closed and walked away. Logan could hear Kurt shift his feet on the other side.

“Mama means well,” he whispered. “She don’t like back-talk, though.”

“ _Kurt!_ ”

“Coming, Mama!” Kurt called. In a lower voice, he added, “I’ll come back later when Mama goes to sleep.”

* * *

 

True to his word, Kurt did come back. Logan had been snoozing when a sudden weight made the bed dip.

Kurt flashed a grin in the dark. “Hi.”

Logan growled, “I’m sleeping. Go ‘way.”

“This is the only time we can talk,” the Darkling child whined softly. “And we gotta do it quietly, or else Daddy might hear—or Nils. When Nils wakes up, so does everyone else.” In the dark, Logan could see him grimace slightly. “Nilsy is really loud…”

“So are you,” Logan grumbled. “And you smell when you jump.”

“You smell when you fart,” Kurt shot back.

Logan smirked, then looked in the direction of the place where the curtain opened. “Is that what a ‘mama’ is supposed to be?” he asked out of nowhere. “’cause she’s meaner than a croc.”

Kurt chuckled. “She has to be, since she’s Queen. Queens settle arguments.” He tilted his head. “And Mama says a mama has to be tough to raise four trouble-making rats…whatever that means.”

“I think it means you ain’t a faerie, yer a rat,” Logan joked. He poked Kurt’s tail. “Got a tail like one.”

“Do not,” Kurt whined.

Logan sneezed. The Darkling held out a box of tissues. “Mama says blowing your nose helps.”

“I hate it when you always say ‘Mama says’,” Logan grumbled as he blew his nose. “Yer a mama’s boy, through and through, and you know it.”

“So?”

“So, are you always gonna do what mama says?” Logan challenged. “You’ll just be a fluffy bunny if you only do that.”

Kurt stuck his tongue out, but didn’t argue further. Logan knew he didn’t like being called out as a mama’s boy. Though he did what his mother said, Kurt kind of disliked her. He’d confessed once that Queen Raven was quite the ‘hard-ass’ (as he’d heard others refer to her), and she punished Kurt more severely than the other Darkling children because he was the eldest and the next-in-line.

Kurt loved to run free and just be Kurt, which was why Logan suspected the Darkling liked him so much. Logan didn’t demand anything but play fights and hanging out. He was a distraction from the ever-growing responsibilities, stress of his home life, and mother’s demands—and possibly his father’s demands, but Logan rarely heard Kurt talk about his father.

A **_BAMF_** sliced through the air, diverting both boys’ attentions. The bed dipped suddenly with a new, smaller weight. Kurt gasped.

A little baby Darkling, nearly a reflection of Kurt—with no nose (for some strange reason) and five tiny, pudgy digits on each hand and foot—sat on the edge of the bed. His stumpy tail twitched once as he rolled onto his back. Logan thought the baby resembled a blue potato. The baby sniffled and whimpered, clearly disoriented and ready to burst into tears.

“Nils!” Kurt squealed happily. “You teleported!”

Kurt grabbed his brother and hugged him. Nils burped in Kurt’s face and sucked on his fist.

Logan coughed, laying back down as Kurt ran out of the room, screaming, “Mama! Daddy! Lookit! Nilsy ‘ported!”

Logan was happy with the shift in attention. He really wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is not our normal Logan/Wolverine, he would obviously get sick.  
> I know Nils doesn't have a tail, but for the sake of the Pan part of this story I'm giving him one. For the same reason, Mystique (Raven in this story) shall always have wings and a tail, and Rogue will also be different-looking. If the characters (particularly big, bad Azazel and Raven) seem slightly OOC when they come in, please excuse that.


	4. Meet the Royals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan meets Kurt's oh-so-lovely family, but at least he gains a new friend.

When he awoke next, Logan smelled something good. Something that smelled like cooked meat. His stomach growled in want, in need. That was enough for Logan to get off of his cloud of a bed.

He was doing a lot better than yesterday, of that Logan could be sure. For one, his fever had gone down. For another, his insides didn’t want to see the outside every time he moved. Food and walking towards that food seemed like an achievable dream at the moment.

Logan was too hungry to really take in his surroundings as he shuffled out of the room. All he knew was that the place was covered in lavish reds and golds, with beautifully carved tables and pillars speckled about the halls and stairwells. Not that he would have cared, anyway; Rich things didn’t catch his interest at the moment. He was far too wild and far too young to give two craps about the lushness of Kurt’s home.

Of course, when he saw the kind of breakfast that was being served in the huge dining hall, he had second thoughts about royals.

Sitting on the long wooden table was a feast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, rice, vegetables, and all sorts of foods Logan had never seen even in the wild. In the center of the table was an arrangement of beautiful flowers that only grew in the wildest of places on Neverland.

Sitting around the table were three children and one woman, all of whom looked up at the newest addition to the room.

Logan recognized the woman—Queen Raven—and the youngest of the children—Nils. The other two kids were girls, which was made obvious by their little wings. One could have been a twin of Kurt, if not for the wings and younger look. She had big, solid yellow eyes, curly darker blue hair, and three digits on each hand and foot. The other girl was green—of all colors!—with long brown hair and sparkling green eyes. This girl’s eyes weren’t solid like Nils’s, Kurt’s, or the little girl’s. They looked like a normal person’s eyes. There was a streak of white in her hair, which intrigued Logan.

The queen sniffed in disdain at the new arrival. “Well, well. Look who’s up and about. I suppose you smelled the meat.”

Logan glared at her. “Where’s Kurt?”

“In bed, still,” the elder girl answered. Her green tail flicked playfully as she turned around in her chair to face Logan. “Dummy gots the sniffles now.”

“Rogue,” Queen Raven growled. “Do not sit in your chair like that.”

Rogue stuck her tongue out, but sat her rump back down into her chair the right way. Logan walked over to one of the empty chairs and hopped up. Raven, after taking a sip of her drink, said darkly, “What makes the wolverine cub think he’s welcome to sit at the table?”

Logan grabbed a handful of bacon, ignoring the queen’s words and the proper utensils. He ate loudly, trying his best to annoy the queen. He could tell it worked; Raven’s wings curled and uncurled in irritation, but she refused to move.

Suddenly, she smiled as she looked behind Logan and the children. “Good morning, dear.”

Logan turned his head and blinked. Strolling into the room was the epitome of an Alpha Male to Logan. His skin was the bloodiest of reds, his eyes the iciest of blues, and his hair the deepest of blacks. A fur cowl was draped over a shoulder, and he wore black robes that were even deeper than his hair color—if that was even possible. Gold trimming lined the edges of his robes.

The thing that stuck out the most, though, were the strange markings all over his skin. They weren’t tattoos with ink, like the Tribesmen had. They were raised scars that had healed into intricate patterns, decorating every inch of his skin, from his face to his hands to his tail. Logan was sure that underneath all those robes the king had even more markings.

His icy eyes—like Rogue’s, they were white with pupils in the middle of the blue irises—locked onto Logan. He sneered, revealing large white fangs. “Why is there an animal sitting at the dining table?”

“He’s Kurt’s little cub friend,” Raven said coolly. “The sick wildling that got our son sick.”

The king puffed out a sigh. “Fantastic. I suppose now we have to deal with a pet in the house…”

Logan instantly disliked this family. In fact, this whole conversation was moving him to the ‘hate all faeries, light and dark’ side, with Kurt being the only exception. Where Lights tried to drag him to the tribe or help him because he was a ‘lost little kid’, the Darklings looked down on him because he was _not_ one of them.

Logan glared at the red faerie with all the anger he could muster. “I’m no one’s pet,” he snarled. He flexed his fingers, really wishing he’d thought to retrieve his Neverbird claws from the side table before leaving his recovery room.

The king of the Darklings scoffed. “And yet my eldest son dragged you here and begged to take care of you as if you were a lost puppy.” He looked at the table once over. “Where is Kurt?”

“Kurti’s sick,” the younger female child—Jillian, if Logan remembered Kurt’s explanation’s correctly—squeaked.

“Sick by the cub’s doing,” Raven said, resuming her meal. “As I said not a minute before.”

“That does not answer my question,” the king growled. “ _Where_ is Kurt?”

“In his room,” Rogue answered. “Mama told him to get up but he wouldn’t.”

“Hmph.”

“Azazel,” Raven said. “Kurt is old enough to learn the trance; don’t you think this would be a good time to teach him?”

Azazel nodded once. “Yes, I do believe we can make this work. I will return in a few minutes.”

He disappeared in a large **_BAMF_** , much louder and fierier than Kurt’s and Nils’s. The noise nearly startled Logan, but he kept his ground.

Logan turned to the queen. “Where’s Kurt’s room?” he demanded.

The queen looked at him once, cocked an eyebrow, and then turned her attention back to Rogue. “Take the wolverine cub back to his room,” she ordered. “He needs his rest. And if the need arises, take him to go o-u-t.”

Logan bristled at the insult. He never minded the ‘wild animal’ treatment from the Tribe—in fact, he loved it. The less they bothered him, the better. But this…this was downright humiliating. He wasn’t even a wild animal in this woman’s eyes. Just some stray her son brought in.

The feral child shot up from his chair and stomped out of the room. He knew when he wasn’t welcome.

He stormed down halls and up stairwells, trying to find the room he’d been in. He didn’t really know how large this place was, only that it was too large for his liking. Instantly, Logan was lost in a section of the place—castle, Kurt had called it during one of their lessons—that was extremely unfamiliar.

“I’m thirsty, though!”

Logan halted. He knew that high-pitched whine! That was Kurt! Logan backtracked a few doors and peered into one of the rooms.

Barely visible in the dark, Logan could see King Azazel sitting on a chair next to a bed that was twice the size of Logan’s, with even more colorful fur blankets and curtains and pillows. Kurt looked pitiful with his bed-head hair/fur, crusty eyes, and snot-covered nose.

The king shook his head. “You can have a drink after your lesson. Now, concentrate. Close your eyes and relax. Stop fidgeting,” he growled. “Clear your mind, like you’re about to go to sleep. Deep breaths. Good. Now, repeat these words in your head over and over.”

Azazel began to softly chant something. Logan had no idea what he was saying, but apparently Kurt did. Kurt, with his eyes closed, moved his lips as he repeated the chant in his head. Eventually, his face relaxed. His indigo fur paled into a misty blue color, and his breathing had slowed so much Logan thought it’d stopped. Within a minute, Kurt had curled into a loose ball and did not move again.

Azazel nodded. “Good.”

He stood up, ready to leave the room. Logan stood in the doorway, his stance defiant. “What did you do to Kurt?”

The red faerie shoved the boy out of the way. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Logan snarled and grabbed his leg. When Azazel tried to shake him off, he bit down. The faerie pried Logan off before he’d broken skin and flung him into Kurt’s room. The Darkling’s eyes were murderous as he snarled, “Foolish cub! You _dare_ bite a Darkling!? I suppose you _want_ an agonizingly painful death?”

Logan met the gaze with his own defiant glare. “I can take you,” he challenged. “Just give me my claws and I’ll—”

He stopped short when Azazel made a sound Logan had not expected him to make. Azazel laughed! It was a deep, booming laugh that shook Logan’s bones.

“I won’t even entertain the idea that you would put up a good fight against me,” the king said, highly amused. “But I wasn’t referring to you fighting me. As a wild thing, I imagine your first instinct is to fight, but to _bite_ a _Darkling_? Even the most ferocious of creatures would not dare to sink their teeth into a dark faerie.”

“Why?” Logan growled, still glaring at Kurt’s father. “Your skin wasn’t that tough.”

Azazel smirked, causing the boy to shiver slightly. Logan hated being scared and had built up walls to prevent himself from showing fear, but this faerie sent fear rippling through him with ease. “Because,” the faerie said. “Our blood is poisonous. Deadly to any non-Darkling who consume it. Should you have bitten down harder than your puny baby teeth could allow, and had your tongue touched even a _drop_ of my blood, you would have died—slow, wracked with pain, and screaming for your mommy.”

Azazel rose, straightening out his cape and robes. “Of course, if that had happened, I would never hear the end of it from Kurt. That boy holds grudges longer than his mother, and _believe me_ , that is quite a long time.”

Logan looked at Kurt, watching as the small Darkling barely moved or breathed. His fur was so pale, it looked like he’d…

“So Kurt is okay?” he asked tentatively.

“Of course he’s okay,” Azazel spat. “He’s just gone into a healing trance. All faeries can do it once they reach his age! A small cold is just the thing to help him learn.”

Azazel grabbed Logan by the arm and pulled the child out of the room. “Now,” he growled. “If you’re done being a nuisance, get back to your own room. From how pale you look, it seems you’re still not fully recovered, and I won’t have you getting Kurt sick— _again_ —when he wakes!”

Logan smelled brimstone and fire as the king teleported him to his recovery room. He was shoved into the bed rather harshly.

“I don’t like Kurt playing with such a… _dirty_ creature,” Azazel grumbled. “However, he has been happier now that he has a friend. For that I am grateful.” He leaned in close to Logan’s face. “But, if you hurt my son—my _heir_ —in any way, there will be consequences. Painful consequences. Of that, you can be certain.”

Before Logan could even reply, the blood red faerie king teleported away. Logan gave a _harrumph_ and lifted his chin to the sky. “I won’t hurt Kurt,” he yelled to no one but the air itself. “Of that, _you_ can be certain!”

He grabbed his Neverbird claws, burrowed under his fur blankets, and sat there, wide awake, for hours. He didn’t feel safe falling asleep in this den of teleporting and flying wolves. At least with the claws in his hands he could feel like he could put up a decent fight.

Around hour three of sitting and doing nothing, he heard his door open. Logan sniffed, not catching any sulfurous scent. _Not Kurt or Azazel_ , he decided. _So who…?_

A small, green hand lifted up the blanket and exposed Logan’s head to the world. The Darkling female named Rogue smiled down at him. “I brought some soup,” she said, offering the feral boy a bowl filled with steaming noodle soup. “Thought you might be hungry?”

Logan eyed her suspiciously. “What, Mama didn’t tell you to bring a leash n’ collar?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just cuz Mama and Daddy think you’re a stray to Kurt, doesn’t mean I do. And you look like you need a friend right now.”

Logan huffed in annoyance and looked away.

“At least try the soup?” Rogue asked.

Logan did as she asked and slurped up the soup quickly. It was good—really good—but Logan wouldn’t let her know that.

“I can see why Kurt likes you,” Rogue said. “You must be a champion listener to that chatterbox.”

“To what?”

“Chatterbox. Someone who can’t stop talking. You know, Kurt can’t have taught you much, right?”

“I don’t need to know much,” Logan growled. “He taught me to speak. I don’t need nothin’ else he’s got to teach me.”

Rogue chuckled. “But you could learn how to pick your fights. Kurt can’t teach you that.”

“And you can?” Logan challenged.

“Nah.” Rogue shrugged. “But you should probably teach yourself soon before my Mama actually decides to punish you. Mama’s this close—” She pinched her thumb and pointer-finger together. “—to running you through with a pole.”

Logan smirked. “I’ve faced worse than her. She makes me glad I don’t have a mother.”

Rogue frowned. “Everyone has a mother.”

“Well, I don’t.”

And that was that. Rogue dropped the conversation. Logan ate the rest of his soup in silence, placing the empty bowl in front of her when he was finished. She took it and got up from the bed.

Before leaving the room, she turned and said, “I’m still glad you’re Kurt’s friend. He really needed one.”

Logan looked away, but made sure she heard him mumble, “Tell him I said…thanks.”

Rogue smiled and left the room. Logan burrowed under the covers again, still clutching his Neverbird claws. This time, he fell asleep within minutes, feeling okay that at least one other Darkling besides Kurt cared enough to be patient with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now we've met Azazel and the rest of the family. Rogue is green because of two things: I don't think any other color is HER color, and because of the nature of the Darkling race. They are born in different colors, which sometimes can be random, but it just so happened that Kurt, Jillian, and Nils took after Mama Raven's coloring. Rogue is the black sheep in terms of coloring--or, more appropriately, the green sheep xD


End file.
